i wrote a prose poem

I had a terrible dream, my darling,
of two burning houses,
neither of them ours.
Yet we watched the flames
engulf its surroundings
like our passion
did to our souls.
I walked past the free tea house,
its dancers in the doorway.
I walked past a familiar face
that hugged me and walked away.
With my satchel and sandals,
hands in my sometimes
purple dress pockets or
high-waisted beige pants,
I went looking for you.
I know I started that fire, darling,
burned your ground
to my feet.
Now I'm walking around
this delightful city,
looking for your
ashes to eat.